


See You On A Dark Night

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Barebacking, Breeding Kink, Choking, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Feelings, First Time, Jealousy, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, POV Alternating, Peter is a Jerk, Praise Kink, References to Mpreg, Rough Sex, Sterek endgame, Wolf Derek, Xenophilia, Zoophilia, angry jealousy, imagining strangulation, non consensual choking, peter hale has feelings and he hates them, sad mad peter hale, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:23:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1505180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter never really understood that “Walking On Sunshine” song, but maybe he would have if it had gone “fingering the virgin your backstabbing nephew is in love with while the aforementioned nephew listens outside and has a nervous breakdown, and don’t it feel good,” because he’s positively ecstatic.</p><p>Peter offers to help Stiles with that pesky virginity, knowing full well that Stiles and Derek are obliviously pining for each other. Derek accidentally overhears the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ABANDONED. I'M SORRY. I WROTE MYSELF INTO A CORNER WITH THIS BECAUSE CLEARLY STILES AND PETER WAS A BETTER PAIRING. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO LIKED THIS WEIRD HORNY MESS.
> 
> unbetaed
> 
> I have exciting plans for this fic, and I promise it will end happily.
> 
> (title is from the Grimes song 'Oblivion')

Peter can hear Stiles’ heartbeat for several blocks before the boy parks his Jeep outside the apartment building. He smells like anxiety and adolescent hormones and anticipation-- fresh and clean with a hint of spice. When Stiles had panicked about the virgin sacrifices and no one had come to his rescue, how could Peter have resisted? He knows he isn’t the Hale Stiles wants, what’s more, he knows how badly his nephew wants Stiles back. Peter isn’t particularly bitter about being murdered, but he has no qualms about taking this away from them. It’s only fair-- after all, they did take his _life_.

Stiles looks delectable standing at Peter’s door, fist poised awkwardly to knock.

“Right,” he laughs nervously, “werewolf.”

“Come in Stiles.” Peter tries to imbue his voice with as much warmth as he can.

“Thanks,” Stiles walks in with a determined look on his face. “Let’s do this.”

Peter smiles. He likes Stiles. He likes that Stiles is afraid of him, and that his fear just makes him more bold. He likes the curve of Stiles’ mouth and that the boy’s nipples are always visible through his t shirts. Peter is going to thoroughly enjoy this.

~

Stiles doesn’t know what to do. He’s here and he’s clean and ready to be devirginized, and Peter is just standing there looking at him in that calm unnerving way of his. “So what’s the plan here? How does this work? I mean I’ve obviously never done this before so--”

“Sit down next to me,” Peter says in a soft voice, taking a seat on the sofa. Stiles thinks maybe this is how flies feel right between being caught in the spiderweb and being wrapped up in silk. It’s not that Peter isn’t hot, because _damn_ , it’s more that he’s just really fucking creepy. Like _crazy murderer who came back from the dead_ level creepy. But he’s also gotten really ripped since coming back from the dead. Basically, if Stiles is going to choose between staying a virgin and maybe being ritually sacrificed at the tender age of 17 on the one hand and having sex with a really hot but also creepy possibly evil dude on the other, the choice is clear. So he sits down next to Peter, taking in the man’s predatory grin and lets him put a hand on his knee.

And then Peter is kissing him.

~

Stiles’ mouth is hot and clumsy and soft, and it’s the best thing Peter’s felt in ages. He’s trying so hard, mirroring every swipe of Peter’s tongue, every shift in Peter’s lips. Stiles’ lithe body is firm under Peter’s hands. He has more muscle than he’d had back when they’d first met. His shoulders are broader-- less of a child now. Stiles still tastes like innocence, like naive determination and sincerity. Peter kisses up Stiles’ neck, resisting the urge to bite and claim (that can come later.) No longer occupied, Stiles’ mouth is now free to pant out little breaths and whimpers. Peter wants to pull him apart piece by piece and put him back together so he’s never the same again. He runs his teeth along Stiles’ ear, making the boy shudder.

“You want to know the plan?” Peter speaks softly against his ear, delighting in how sensitive Stiles is. “I’m going to keep kissing you. Then I’m going to take your clothes off and touch you until you’re begging me to open you up and fuck you.”

“Ohgod.”

~

Derek is annoyed but not surprised when he sees Stiles’ Jeep parked outside of Peter’s building. He’s honestly more surprised that he’d never seen it there before. As much as he wants to march in there and pull Stiles out by the ear, he’s trying to be a little less obvious about how much he manhandles the kid, so he walks up the stairs normally, gritting his teeth as the anxious mouthy spicy fresh salty constantly horny smell of Stiles grows stronger.

“Fuck! Oh my God!” Stiles sounds panicked and terrified. There’s a quiver in his voice Derek’s never heard before, and he’s about to smash Peter’s door down to rescue him when Stiles continues. “I’m so sorry holy shit. That’s so embarrassing.”

Derek can smell Stiles’ shame and spunk from the hallway. He stands at the door frozen and listens.

“It’s alright Stiles.” Peter sounds so fucking smug, so fucking self satisfied. Derek can hear his fucking _smirk_.

“Um...no it’s not? I just came. In my jeans. Somehow against all odds you invited me over here to have sex with me and I came in my goddamn jeans like a little kid. How is that alri--what are you--”

Derek can hear the sound of a zipper, Peter moving.

“What are you--ah! oh...ohhh.” And Derek doesn’t need to be able to hear the wet sounds of his uncle’s mouth on Stiles’ cock to know that Peter is cleaning him up, tasting him. He can smell Stiles’ embarrassment fading away, replaced by arousal and surprise. Derek suppresses a possessive growl and listens. He’s lost count of how many times he’s come thinking about the sounds he could pull out of Stiles, and his fantasies have absolutely nothing on the hitched little breaths and whimpers and groans Derek is hearing now.

There’s a slurp that can only be Peter, and Derek’s skin crawls.

“Let’s go to the bedroom?”

“God yes.”

He’s going to throw up.

~

Peter never really understood that “Walking On Sunshine” song, but maybe he would have if it had gone “fingering the virgin your backstabbing nephew is in love with while the aforementioned nephew listens outside and has a nervous breakdown, and don’t it feel good,” because he’s positively ecstatic. Stiles is so tight. Stiles is _so tight_. No matter how much Peter preps him, the stretch of his cock is going to hurt a little. 

“Doing so well Stiles,” Peter murmurs, loving the way Stiles’ little hole grips the first couple of inches of his index finger. “Taking it so well for me.”

“‘Snot really a chore, but thanks,” Stiles manages between short panting breaths.

“Thanks what?” Peter stills his finger, waiting for Stiles to correct himself.

“Thanks _Peter_.” Stiles gets a tap to his prostate for being so good. He lets out a keen Peter bets his non werewolf neighbors can hear.

“ _Good boy_.”

A shudder runs through Stiles’ body at Peter’s praise. Isn’t it always the way with the mouthy ones? Thumbing their noses at authority to hide the fact that all they really want is approval. Stiles preens at every encouragement and compliment. Under all that sarcastic armor, he’s deliciously easy.

Peter pulls his finger out to apply more lube, watching Stiles’ hole twitch and grab at the sudden emptiness. The thought of just slicking himself up and pushing in makes Peter’s wolf salivate, but he knows it will be so much better for the waiting.

A huff and a scratch come from the hallway, too low for human ears to hear. A whine. Peter can smell Derek’s misery, and the scent mingles with Stiles’ arousal like a fine perfume. He strokes Stiles’ rim with two fingers, tickling the boy’s taint with his thumb. He’s already hard again.  _Teenagers_ , Peter thinks with a smile, and dips back inside. Stiles moans, his hole clutching at Peter’s fingers, muscles spasming greedily, trying to pull him in deeper. But Peter keeps the penetration shallow, circling and teasing. When Stiles thrusts his hips backwards, Peter anticipates him, smirking and holding the boy still with his other hand, continuing his slow, deliberate ministrations.

“Come ON,” Stiles whines. It’s the wrong kind of whine though, petulant and frustrated, like he’s asking a teacher to let him leave early.

~

“Please,” Stiles whispers.  

Derek’s half shifted, digging his claws into his palms and trying to keep it together. He should leave. He should have left the second he figured out Stiles wasn’t in danger. Even through the walls and the stink of Peter and the various other tenants of the building, Derek can smell Stiles, and god he smells amazing. He sounds amazing. He probably looks amazing, throat bared, back arching, rolling his slim hips against the probing fingers that _should be_ Derek’s, but aren’t.

“What was that, Stiles?” 

Derek hates how obvious it is that Peter is enjoying playing with the boy this way.

Stiles speaks a little bit louder, his voice choked and high. “Peter, _please_. I need--ah--I need it deeper.”

Derek can hear the little wet sound of Peter’s fingers moving in Stiles’ hole, can picture Stiles’ face and chest and shoulders flushed, eyes blown. All of his instincts are telling him to go in there and fight, to claim what’s his. He fights it though, because Stiles is a person, not territory. Derek can hear his heartbeat, his fast little breaths, can smell the sweat forming on his skin. He can hear Peter’s fingers moving around inside of Stiles, wet and slow and deliberate, loosening him up, and it’s excruciating to be this close. Derek’s throat is tight with swallowed sobs but his cock is fattening up in his jeans, clearly not getting the message that this is not for him. He is not inside, pulling apart that beautiful boy, coaxing the loveliest groans out of his mouth. No, instead he’s standing outside creepily like a supernatural peeping Tom, grinding his teeth and failing to fight off a sorrow-boner.

There’s a wet _shlik!_ sound and a short whine of disappointment, but then Peter’s shushing Stiles, telling him he needs to relax. Stiles takes a few deep breaths and then finally says, “okay, I’m ready.”

Hating himself for it, Derek puts his ear closer to the wall and unzips his jeans.

~

Peter’s cock is nothing like anything Stiles’ ass has felt before. It’s thick and fleshy and blunt. He’s used to fingers mostly, his own skinny digits and now Peter’s thicker, cleverer ones. Fingers wiggle and move and tease, but Peter’s cock is just a big mass slowly splitting Stiles apart. As he pushes in, the stretch goes from bad to kind of weird but okay. Stiles is vaguely aware of Peter running his hand up and down his back, shushing him, telling him how well he’s doing.

“I know it hurts, but I can’t take the pain from you. We need to know in case something tears. You’re taking it so beautifully sweet boy.”

Somehow Peter is able to mention _anal tearing_ in a way that’s comforting, and Stiles knows the praise is just soothing dirty talk, but it works for him. Stiles has gone soft, trying to take deep breaths and relax his muscles as much as possible. He’s not sure when the fullness starts to feel good, but he hums happily once the sensation registers. Peter’s cock drags against his prostate on the outstroke, and Stiles moans, feeling his own dick starting to get hard again. There’s a quick shock of cold as Peter applies more lube, but then he’s sliding back in, and _fuck_ that’s nice. There’s still an ache, but it’s in the background-- he’ll deal with it later. Stiles rolls his hips backwards to meet Peter’s thrust, and the man’s balls slap against his taint, and _shit_ that feels really good too. This is fucking. They are fucking. Stiles is cursing up a storm and making noises that are probably more “small forest animal” than “porn star,” but he’s focused, grounded. There’s something oddly safe-feeling about getting his ass pounded by an undead psychopath werewolf. It turns out Peter is _great_ at taking virginities. Go figure.

~

“You have no idea how good you look, do you, taking it so nicely? You’re a natural Stiles. So tight for me...” Peter means it, too. Stiles’ little teenage body looks so fucking good on his dick. The scent of them together is intoxicating. Peter wraps one hand around Stiles’ hipbone, letting his fingertips dig in. (When Stiles jerks off next, ass still sore from this reaming, he’ll press a fingertip here, hissing slightly at the pain, but loving the memories associated with it.)

Peter can hear Derek in the hallway, huffing and puffing and hiccuping low, the soft wet sound of skin on skin. Now who’s the creep? Peter would laugh, but he doesn’t want to drown out this song of his triumph-- Stiles’ little “hah hah hah”s of breath, his “oh _god_ ”s and “oh _fuck_ ”s, his filthy whines of “ _yeah_ Peter,” and best of all, the flinching grunts he makes when something hurts.

Every syllable is a benediction on the boy’s lips.

Peter wraps his arm around the boy and grabs his leaking prick. Stiles squeaks out his gratitude, and it doesn’t take him long.

“ _Fuck!_ I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, fuck! Peter!”

Peter jerks him through it, loving the way Stiles contracts around him. His nostrils flare, taking in the smells of sex, of Derek spilling onto his hand out in the hallway. Peter comes, marking Stiles deep inside as he listens to his nephew’s sobs.

“I’m just gonna...take a little nap...real quick,” Stiles slurs, falling asleep in a puddle of his own come.

~

“I hope you enjoyed yourself Derek.” 

Peter says it in a soft whisper. He knows. 

Derek’s “flight” instinct may be way too late, but it kicks in just then. He runs as fast as he can, leaving his car behind, until he’s in the preserve. He shifts completely and lets the wolf take over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to the Preserve and runs into Derek, who is hanging out in wolf form. They form a surprising bond.
> 
> A few days later, Stiles drops by to see Peter again. Guess what they do. (It's sex.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow thanks everyone for all the positive feedback!!! I'm really enjoying writing this story. <3
> 
> Added some new tags. Unbetaed and not proofread, as ever. Let me know if there are any egregious mistakes.  
> (Psst there's a bunch of daddy kink in this sex scene so that's just a warning.)

So that’s sex, Stiles thinks to himself, taking the last slurp of his vanilla milkshake and turning his Jeep into the preserve. He’s bruised and kinda tired and sore as fuck, but...he just had sex. He just had mindblowingly hot sex with a hot older guy who is really good at sex. And Stiles is pretty sure Peter would fuck him again.

The only thing that aches more than his ass is the realization that he can’t tell Scott. Scott just...wouldn’t get it. He lost his virginity to Allison, the love of his life. They made love. Then there’s also the whole “Peter is kind of a villain” thing. A villain with a glorious dick.

Stiles puts the Jeep in park and kills the engine. He needs to take a walk (mostly to take the weight off of his butt.) It’s nice to walk alone in the trees without having to worry about being virgin-sacrificed. The air is really clean and the leaves are starting to turn. It’s peaceful, which is something he’s sorely been missing.

Of course, that’s when the huge fucking wolf skulks into view and charges at him. Stiles is preparing for the worst when the wolf just stops and looks at him with big red eyes that seem almost...annoyed.

“Derek?” Stiles asks incredulously.

He didn’t know that wolf-wolves could roll their eyes. Maybe they can’t, but Derek in wolf form certainly can. He’s not Twilight wolf big, but he’s up to Stiles’ waist. Stiles doesn’t know what to say. Derek bumps against his hip in a way that feels kind of affectionate.

“Do you want to play frisbee or something?” Stiles means it half as a joke, but wolfy Derek just kind of shrugs and trots a short distance. That’s how Stiles spends the evening after losing his v-card: playing frisbee catch with the werewolf he has a crush on.

Stiles isn’t attracted to wolf-Derek, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think Derek was beautiful and kind of majestic like this. His fur is thick and black and his eyes are more reminiscent of jewels and flowers than of blood. He moves with incredible grace, leaping into the air to catch the frisbee and pounding his paws into the dirt to bring it back. Stiles doesn’t even think about it, he just ruffles Derek’s fur, scratching him behind the ears like this is a normal thing for them to do. Derek seems cool with it though, and it’s the both the weirdest and most normal evening Stiles has had in a long time.

Stiles sees Derek again a few days later. He’s in the preserve, heading back to his Jeep after a gruelling cross country practice when Derek barrels into him, still in wolf form. Stiles wants to sleep for a week, and there’s no way he’s up for running around playing catch with an enormous supernatural creature. He says as much to Derek, who headbutts him playfully.

“Seriously dude, unless you’re up for a night of video games and napping, you are on your own.” The last thing Stiles expects is for Derek to jump through the window and spread out across the back seat.

~

Derek had plans. Plans involving Stiles’ 18th birthday and scenic drives and making out in cars and all of that nice shit you’re supposed to do that they’d both missed out on. He was going to do it right. Maybe he still can, if Peter doesn’t end up digging his hooks into the kid first.

Being someone’s surrogate pet dog is admittedly a weird seduction plan, but when Stiles had ruffled Derek’s fur out in the preserve? That was the first time since Laura that anyone had touched him without wanting to hurt him or take something from him. Those playful, casual touches were all he could think about. He needs more, and if he has to be a wolf to get them, so be it.

They get fast food on the drive. The sheriff is working all night, Stiles assures him, taking a loud sip of milkshake and pulling into the driveway. The house smells so strongly of Stiles it makes Derek’s head spin. There’s photos of Stiles on the walls, notes in Stiles’ handwriting scattered on various surfaces, hoodies strewn over chairs that call to Derek like a siren’s song. They end up in Stiles’ room, Stiles firing up his PS3 and unwrapping a few burgers so Derek can eat them. Stiles sits on the floor in front of his bed and Derek stretches out behind him. It’s nice to have Stiles leaning against him, and Derek dozes, periodically glancing at the screen to see a pomeranian jumping around a post-apocalyptic cityscape.

“Oh sweet,” Stiles announces, making Derek look up. “I’m having sex with this other pomeranian,” he explains. “Now we’re gonna have puppies.” The tiny dogs in the game do. “Look at them following me around! How cute is that?” Stiles pauses the game to stuff some chicken nuggets in his face. He runs his greasy fingers through Derek’s fur a couple of times before unpausing. Derek has spent a lot of time thinking about Stiles’ fingers. They’re long and thin and surprisingly strong. He’s thought about taking them into his mouth, getting them nice and wet so Stiles can open him up with them. He’s thought about other things too though, like holding hands at the movies or rubbing out the strain when Stiles gets a hand cramp from playing too much video games. Derek had never thought about what it would feel like to have Stiles’ fingers scratching behind his ears or combing through his fur, but now that he has it, he’s not sure how he ever lived without it.

Hours go by like that, until Stiles is waking him up. “Dude, you should just sleep on the bed.” Derek tries not to let the rejection sting too bad, and is comforting himself with the bed’s sheer concentration of Stiles-smell, when Stiles shuts off the light and crawls in with him. “G’night dude,” he mumbles, wrapping an arm around Derek’s middle. It’s not everything Derek’s ever wanted, but it comes pretty close.

~

“I’m tired Stiles, maybe some other time.”

“Tired,” Stiles scoffs, “what happened to werewolf stamina?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t work when you’ve been up all night fighting alphas. Besides, it’s ten o’clock in the morning. Go home Stiles.”

Peter really wouldn’t turn the boy away, but it’s true-- he’s exhausted. He still isn’t as strong as he was before he had died, and he’s really not up to this alpha pack business. Not at all. But Stiles, being Stiles, wriggles inside anyways.

“I’ll do all the work. Come on, Peter, please?” He’s much bolder than he had been those few days before, and he grabs Peter’s hand, pushing it down the back of his jeans and under his boxers, guiding it down to his hole, which is...wet and open and ready. Stiles looks at him from under thick lashes and wiggles his eyebrows. “See? Just lie down and I’ll slide on top of you. So easy.”

Warm heavy satisfaction spreads through Peter’s body, cutting through the soreness of last night’s fight. His cock twitches at the feeling of Stiles’ slick stretched opening. “Get undressed,” he says with a small smile. “I’ll be on the couch.”

Stiles strips, and his sensuous confidence fades away, replaced by eager frenetic energy. His slim erection slaps against his stomach when he yanks his boxers down, the air filling with the smell of precome and teenage boy. “On your knees,” Peter says in a sleepy voice, gesturing lazily to the space between his legs. Stiles scrambles into position and looks up at him excitedly. Peter considers pointing out that the teen forgot to take his socks off, but the white cotton on the boy’s skinny legs creates a nice image. “Well?” As nice as it is to have Stiles naked on his knees in front of him, Peter really is exhausted. Stiles places his hands tentatively on Peter’s thighs and looks unsure. Peter sighs, undoing his jeans and pulling his half-hard cock out. “Do you require further direction?” he asks, thumbing Stiles’ lower lip.

The taunt works, and Stiles gets that determined look on his face. He doesn’t answer, just wraps his sweet little pink mouth around the head of Peter’s dick, lapping his tongue across the slit. “That’s it,” Peter croons, gently pushing Stiles’ head down, “there’s a good boy.” Stiles tries to take him all the way down, but gags, his face getting red and eyes filling with tears. It’s a good look for him, but Peter pulls him off, wiping a tear away with his thumb as Stiles coughs and catches his breath. “Don’t bother with all of that today. Just get my cock wet and come up here.” Stiles nods and licks him from root to tip, looking up at him with wide brown eyes. Gorgeous. Peter is so glad he answered the door.

Stiles is clumsy when he clambers up onto Peter’s lap, but he plants his feet on the couch and steadies himself before sinking down with a groan. Peter slides in easily, comfortably encased in Stiles’ hot dripping hole. He peels his own shirt off and pulls the boy against his chest, improving the angle.

Stiles grabs the back of the couch for purchase and tries an experimental bounce. “Oh FUCK!” His voice is high and reedy as he calls out. Stiles doesn’t set a pace as much as he writhes on Peter’s lap, bouncing and grinding and squirming. It’s good though-- Stiles is tight and perfect around him, and the position gives Peter a beautiful view of the boy’s skinny teenage erection bouncing as they move. He brushes a thumb over Stiles’ right nipple, and he can feel the boy squeezing around him in response. Peter wets his forefinger and thumb with his mouth and returns them to the puffy sensitive bud, reveling in the way Stiles whines at the touch.

~

“Oh god,” Stiles moans, lifting himself up and slamming back down onto Peter’s cock. “Why do you feel so good? Why does your dick fill me up so perfectly?”

“How many times did you think about me and tug on your dick, try to fill yourself up with your fingers?”

“Every day,” Stiles confesses, circling his hips and loving the way Peter rubs up against his prostate. “Fucked myself that night-- nnggh-- still had some of your come inside me.”

Peter thrusts up into him for the first time all day, sending jolts of electricity through Stiles’ whole body. “Such a good boy,” he says in that voice that’s part condescending and part mocking but all sex. “Such a good cock-hungry boy, coming here all open and dripping, begging for it.”

Stiles should say no to that, should say he didn’t beg. He didn’t even say please. Well maybe he said it once. But he’s so full and it feels so good having Peter inside him. And maybe what Peter’s saying is kind of hot. Maybe he means it in a sexy slutty dirty way. Stiles thinks all this to himself, but all he ends up doing is throwing his head back and saying “yeah” in a long whine.

“Come on Stiles,” Peter continues, pulling gently at Stiles’ nipple, “show daddy how well you ride cock.” Stiles’ face is already red, but he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks at Peter’s words.

“Uh oh,” Peter taunts, “looks like I’ve found a button.” Stiles freezes up, eyes big, not sure if he’s panicking or really really into it. “I can smell you; you can’t hide your reactions from me.”

Stiles half means to yell at him, call him a pervert and leave, but he instead he just whimpers. Peter holds him by the waist and fucks up into him once. “That’s right baby,” he thrusts again, “daddy knows.” Stiles chases Peter’s cock as the man lowers his hips, starting to ride him in earnest. “There’s my good boy,” Stiles can hear the smile in his voice, and it should be creepy, it really should. He can hear the predatory note in Peter’s tone, but it just ends up being hot. And maybe it means something’s wrong with Stiles, but when Peter instructs “now bounce that sweet little ass on daddy’s dick,” he can’t comply fast enough.

He still feels humiliated though, when Peter wraps a hand around his leaking cock and he unthinkingly moans out “thank you daddy.”

Peter turns him around so Stiles is facing him, and that makes it both much more intense and much easier. It feels less creepy to be calling out “daddy” when he can see that the man whose dick he’s riding isn’t actually his father. At least Peter’s just as into it as he is, calling him “baby” and “sweetheart,” praising his “little body.” His hands are on Stiles’ ass, guiding his movements.

Peter takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling until Stiles squeaks out in protest. “Sorry baby boy,” Peter murmurs with a smirk, clearly not sorry at all, “daddy just loves your puffy little titties.”

“Fuck!” Stiles cries out, feeling his muscles contract involuntarily around Peter. “Gonna come soon,” he moans, licking his palm and wrapping it around his dick.

“Oh?”

“Mmmhmm, gonna c-come, fuck...hngh...yeah…”

Peter pulls out of him almost completely, holding Stiles still so that just the tip of his dick is teasing at Stiles’ hole. “What was that Stiles?”

Stiles feels like he might cry. His ass feels so empty, muscles desperately trying to pull Peter back in. His balls are pulled up so tight against his body, the heat low in his belly, whole body screaming to come. It’s mortifying, but something about the shame makes it better. “Daddy,” he keens, lip quivering, in a voice that sounds much younger than his own “I need to come.”

Peter wets his lips with his tongue as he runs his eyes up and down Stiles’ body. Stiles shivers under his gaze. “So?”

“Please fuck me? Daddy? Please fuck me so I can come.”

“Why?”

Stiles isn’t sure he can do it. He’s not sure if he can take it as far as Peter wants to take it, not sure if he can keep degrading himself like this, go any deeper into whatever this sick shit is. He worries at his lip with his teeth and looks at the ceiling.

“Why do you want me to fuck you Stiles?”

“I-I need it.” Fuck it. “I need your cock Daddy,” he says solemnly, eyes wide, hoping he’s saying the right words. “I need your cock to come because I’m a desperate little slut with a cock-hungry hole and only my daddy can fuck me the way I need to be fucked.” There’s a moment where Peter doesn’t say or do anything. They just sit in the silent apartment, Stiles’ words echoing in his head. It can’t be more than a fraction of a second, but it feels like forever.

He’s about to scream from the frustration when Peter pulls him back down with a smug “good boy.” Peter feels even better inside him now that Stiles has laid himself bare and been accepted. Finally full again, Stiles feels cared for and special. “Come on sweetheart, come for Daddy.” Stiles barely has a chance to move his hips before he’s coming. He rides his way through it, panting out “thank you Daddy” one syllable at a time, shooting long ropes of jizz onto Peter’s chest. It doesn’t take long for Peter to follow him over the edge, squirting hot and deep into Stiles’ core.

Stiles is woken up by the sensation of Peter’s soft dick slipping out of him, followed by a glob of slimey jizz. He can’t have been asleep for that long. He climbs out of Peter’s lap slowly, planning to gather up his clothes and leave quietly, the horrible sick twist of shame already spreading through his stomach. Peter grabs him by the wrist and pulls him back down.

“Don’t you want me to leave?”

Peter opens one eye and looks at him. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not a monster,” he mutters sleepily. “Now c’mere before I change my mind.” There’s still come dripping out of his ass, but Stiles dozes anyways, snuggled up comfortably with Peter Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also the game Stiles is playing is called Tokyo Jungle and it's real that's a real thing you are a cute pomeranian


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that time with Derek is really starting to uh...rub off on Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg finally some Sterek!!!! I have a plan for the rest of this story, finally, so I should be updating a bit more regularly. thanks everyone for your comments!!!

When Derek sees Stiles again, the boy reeks of Peter. He’s at the preserve climbing out of his Jeep; he has fingertip shaped bruises on his delicate skin and he smells _claimed_. So Derek does the most obvious and reasonable thing. He tackles the kid. Stiles falls down with a loud “OOF!” The smell of fear is quickly replaced with happiness and affectionate irritation as the boy realizes it’s just Derek. He runs his fingers through Derek’s fur and groans.

“Dude, you have to stop doing that. One of these days you’re going to break a bone.”

He’s smiling though when he says it and he smells so glad. Still, the idea of Stiles harmed or injured bounces around Derek’s brain. _No no no no no no. No._ It’s good that Stiles is underneath him. Any predators will have to go through Derek first. He pushes his nose into the crook of his boy’s neck and scents him. ( _His_ boy. His. Not anyone else’s. Not Peter’s. _Derek’s_.) Derek licks at Stiles’ bared throat, covering Peter’s smell as much as he can, making sure everyone knows that Stiles belongs to _him_. It isn’t until he licks over the boy’s ear and Stiles _whimpers_ , reeking of embarrassed arousal, that Derek realizes what he’s doing and backs away.

It happens when you spend enough time in wolf form. You act more on instinct. He’s about to run away and hide ( _stupid, stupid, presumptuous. Stiles doesn’t want you he wants Peter. You’re just an animal to him_ ), when Stiles stands up chuckling. “Well at least you’re easy to find. Wanna help me practice throwing lacrosse balls?”

_Yes_ , Derek thinks. _More than anything._ This is something people do with dogs. It’s fetch. But the air is so thick with the smell of forest and dirt and leaves and Stiles’ hopeful affection, and Derek doesn’t mind, not really. He’d forgotten how good it felt to be liked-- not feared or desired or respected, just liked. 

Stiles isn’t bad. He’s not great, but Derek is pretty sure he’s at least _decent_ , for a human anyways. First they practice having Stiles throw the ball to him, Derek jumping into the air and catching it in his teeth, then running it back to him. Then Stiles deems an area between two trees to be the goal, and makes Derek play goalie. The boy doesn’t score once, his competitive frustration making him throw harder and more predictably.

“You’re _gloating_! You think I can’t tell? You’re practically _prancing_ you smug asshole,” Stiles yells, just before throwing the ball right into Derek’s mouth. Instead of running it back to Stiles, he bolts into the woods. He slows himself down so that Stiles can catch up, and ends up being tackled into the shallows of a small pond. “I thought you were a pain in the ass in person form!” Stiles says with a grin, panting for breath and wresting the ball from Derek’s jaws. The water has flattened Stiles’ hair and makes his t shirt cling to him beautifully. He peels off his wet clothes and finds a spot in the sun to dry off. Stretched out on a rock in the sunlight, he motions Derek over and closes his eyes. He’s broader than he had been when they had first met, and the way the light catches the water droplets on his skin makes Derek want to lick them off. “Thanks for helping me out,” Stiles murmurs, reaching out to run his fingers through Derek’s fur. Derek watches over him as the boy contentedly falls asleep, hand still on Derek’s neck.

~

One of the things about ADHD is that you don’t always have complete control over your masturbatory fantasies. Sometimes, things just POP in there that you really don’t want there. Sometimes, you forget you’re masturbating and end up going on a weird mental tangent. And sometimes, well, sometimes something pops in there that _feels_ random and weird, but then, it totally ends up working for you. In a big way.

Stiles starts out like he usually does: focusing on his and Peter’s greatest hits. It’s kind of like one of those old infomercials for compilation CDs where the list of songs scrolls past as highlighted tracks get medleyed. It’s not like there’s a cheesy voice over guy announcing “enjoy such classics as ‘Peter’s Fingers Digging into Your Hipbone!’ ‘A Cock Down Your Throat!’ ‘Getting Eaten Out Until You Cry!’ and Much Much More” or anything, but it’s still an apt comparison. 

He’s wiggling a finger into his ass when he realizes that the fangs biting down on the back of his neck in his memory/fantasy are not Peter’s, that the body he’s imagining plastered against him isn’t just really hairy, but actually has fur. It isn’t the first time Stiles jerks off thinking about Derek, but it is the first time he jerks off thinking about anyone with more than two legs. Derek in wolf form is affectionate and powerful and weirdly fun. Stiles had thought it was going to be like having a dog, but the more time they spent together, the less he felt that way. So, Stiles comes HARD with two fingers in his ass and his hand around his dick, thinking about the muscles moving under Derek’s fur as the wolf _breeds him_. He thinks about being filled and stretched to capacity, tied to Derek and pumped full of cum. He thinks about a merciless pace, a cold nose and flat tongue against his abused hole, licking and snuffling as Derek’s seed spills back out.

It’s a trade-off Stiles is all-too familiar with: burning hot sex fantasy taking the place of any comfort at all around the person in the fantasy. When Derek climbs into his bed that night after watching him play Octodad: Dadliest Catch, Stiles knows it’s going to make tomorrow’s morning wood all the more awkward. He jerks off in the shower (trying desperately not to think about Derek, as if he would somehow know) before bed, hoping that will help.

It doesn’t. He wakes himself up with a moan. There’s something hot and firm between his legs, and rolling his hips against it feels too good not to. When his eyes flutter open, he realizes that it’s Derek’s back, and he scrambles away. Maybe Derek’s asleep, Stiles half reasons half prays. Sure enough, he hears a soft snore from the wolf. 

It’s not the best idea he’s ever had, but it’s also far from the worst. Stiles just _really_ needs to come, and he thinks he can, as long as he’s super stealth about it. He raises his hips just enough that he can hook the waistband of his boxers down below his balls and wraps a spit-slick hand around his cock.

Stiles watches Derek with a mixture of terror and lust, reassured by the evenness of the wolf’s breathing. Beads of sweat are forming on his forehead, his breath coming out in short soft pants. Dick slippery with pre-come, he lets himself close his eyes, imagining jaws holding him down, powerful enough to kill. He imagines fur tickling his face as he sucks Derek down to the root, remembers how it felt to have Derek on top of him in the preserve, huge tongue dragging wetly across his skin.

Stiles just has time to hike up his shirt before he comes, hot and sticky over his stomach. He lets his body go limp, watching Derek sleep. Stiles is thinking that he can’t quite believe he got away with it when Derek turns his head over his shoulder, tilts his head inquisitively and gets up. But instead of leaving, instead of jumping out of bed with disgust, Derek straddles Stiles’ waist, looking down at the evidence pooling in Stiles’ belly button. The blush creeps up his face and before he can stutter out some kind of excuse, Derek is bending down and lapping it up. His tongue is flat and cool, which Stiles knew, but Derek is so careful, so deliberate in the way he cleans Stiles, sliding his tongue down his trail of hair, sticky with come and sweat. Stiles is pretty sure he can’t get hard again this quickly, but fuck, Derek is really testing him.

Having cleaned off Stiles’ stomach, Derek pulls away and looks up for a second before bending back down and lapping delicately at the tip of Stiles’ soft, oversensitive cock. He can’t stop the high-pitched, embarrassing yelp that escapes his throat.

“You okay in there Stiles?” his dad yells from the next room.

“Yeah dad! Just stubbed my toe,” Stiles calls back, but the moment is over. Whatever spell had come over Derek and him had been broken. “I guess I should uh...shower?” Stiles says lamely.

Derek nods, and by the time Stiles comes back, he’s gone.

Stiles is so boned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter smells something different on Stiles, and he's not exactly sure _how_ he feels about it, but whatever it is, it's pretty strong.
> 
> Also: knotting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is bonkers and ended up being really long and pretty dark. it took me a REALLY long time to write. like I started this scene weeks ago.
> 
> warning: there's like a little bit of violence and some murder thoughts in this while peter is fucking stiles, so see the end notes for an expanded warning there.

Every time Peter sees Stiles, the boy smells more and more like Derek. It’s...slightly disconcerting, but also kind of funny. He brings it up, murmuring casually into Stiles’ ear “why do you smell like my nephew?” and pulling short black hairs off of the boy’s hoodie.

“We’ve just been hanging out.” Stiles says it off-handedly, and it’s true, if his heartbeat is anything to go by.

“In wolf form?” Peter quirks an eyebrow. “How do you ‘hang out’ with a wolf?”

Stiles has the put-upon look of a teenage boy (which he is) being questioned by a parent (which Peter is certainly old enough to be). “He’s helping me train for lacrosse tryouts. We run around in the preserve and then he falls asleep. It’s fun. So are you going to fuck me or what?”

Stiles loves this game, loves to pout and throw his attitude around and give Peter lip. It’s such juvenile manipulation, and it shows such arrogance that he thinks that’s all it takes for Peter to lose control. It’s cute though. Peter is finding himself growing fond of the boy. (Fonder, rather, since he’d always been partial to him.) Peter hums in mock consideration, “I could fuck you, or I could just sit here and read quietly. That sounds nice, actually.”

Stiles flares his nostrils, and the scent of his frustration is mouthwatering. “Cool,” he says, standing up. Peter admires him, but feels sorry for the boy if he thinks he’s going to win this game of chicken. But instead of heading towards the door, Stiles sits on the coffee table opposite Peter. “You wouldn’t mind if I fucked myself then, would you?” His head is cocked and he asks in the same tone a guest might use while helping themselves to a glass of water. 

“Oh by all means,” Peter says, waving Stiles on without looking up from his book. He listens to shoes being toed off, jeans being unzipped, the rustle of fabric. The air smells like skin and excitement as Stiles spreads himself out on the coffee table with a sigh. It’s a bit over-the-top, but Peter can’t help but smile as he steals a glance at Stiles running his long fingers over goose-pimpled pale skin. The performance is full of those little tells that someone isn’t used to being watched, when they’re so self-conscious that they oversell it. Stiles mugs like a bad porn actress, writhing in a way that’s just kind of inauthentic. Still, there’s something seductive about his naïve pastiche of seduction, and Peter finds himself growing hard.

It’s the little peeks of authenticity that really dig into him. Of course Stiles is gorgeous, eyes closed and mouth open, breath becoming more ragged as he scrapes the blunt tips of his nails across his nipples. But it’s when he opens one eye to look at Peter’s reaction, face contorted dramatically like he’s somehow being sneaky, that a shiver runs down Peter’s spine and his chest feels warm and heavy with fondness. In spite of himself, Peter puts his book down and gives up the show of not watching, smirking as he catches Stiles trying to sneak a peek again.

They lock eyes and that seems to bring Stiles back down to earth. He spreads his legs and plants his feet on the table, completely on display for Peter. His pretty pink hole spasms, opening and closing in anticipation as Stiles coats two fingers in lube. They slide in easily, and his whole body seems to relax at the intrusion. He’s looking up at Peter with those wide amber saucer eyes, and it’s the least guarded Peter’s ever seen him. He feels simultaneously predatory and protective, heavy and light, and the sensation is heady and a bit on the overwhelming side.

Peter does not like being overwhelmed, so he decides to be proactive, kneeling on the carpet in front of Stiles’ spread legs and pouring lube onto his own fingers.

“Change your mind Peter?” Stiles asks cheekily, wiggling his eyebrows.

Peter strokes a finger around Stiles’ stretched rim, making the boy gasp. “What if I just decided to fuck your throat? Use your little mouth and leave your slutty boy hole aching and desperate for a cock? What would you do then, Stiles?” Peter smirks, loving the way Stiles’ heartbeat picks up at the mental image.

Stiles just juts out his jaw and glares haughtily. “Then I’d find someone else to fuck me.”

It’s funny, how most wolves make discerning lies from truth out to be something easy. It _is_ easy, as long as someone is willfully trying to deceive you. But when you’re a creature with a complex psyche made of tangled doubts and fears and hopes, when your emotional reality is based on battling suppositions and insecurities, the truth is so much trickier. So, when Stiles says he’d find someone else to fuck him, it’s a taunt as much as a conjecture, a hope, something that could be, if a thousand variables were in its favor. 

Still, it’s true enough to tap into something possessive in Peter. If Stiles wants to play this way, fine, he’ll get what he’s asking for.

Peter growls, eyes flashing, and shoves two of his own fingers in alongside Stiles’. The boy flinches, grimacing slightly at the suddenness of it.

“Oh no Stiles, you tease me, you push my buttons on purpose, try to get a rise out of me? You’ll take what I give you.” He puts his other hand on Stiles’ throat, not hard enough to choke, but enough to hold the boy still. The mingling smells of Stiles’ fear and arousal are gorgeous, but here’s another smell there, hiding at Stiles’ groin, a familiar smell that Peter would overlook if it weren’t _right there_ where it absolutely should not be.

Suddenly, Stiles’ idle threat feels much more insidious, and Peter is furious with himself for deigning to feel an emotion as petty as jealousy. 

~

“Would you really Stiles?” Peter asks menacingly, twisting his fingers inside him before pulling them out to unbutton his fly and slick up his cock. Stiles winces. “Are you really such a desperate slut that you’d take dick from just anyone?”

Peter’s hand is still on his throat, and the light, firm pressure is dizzying. “What if I was?” Stiles starts to pull his fingers out, but Peter stills his hand.

“No, hold yourself open for me.” 

He feels his face going red, but complies, spreading his fingers for Peter. Stiles isn’t as stretched as he likes to be, but he thinks he can take it.

“I’ve been so nice to you Stiles.” There’s an edge to Peter’s voice that reminds him who he’s dealing with. Yes, Peter has been surprisingly gentle, yes he kissed Stiles and cuddled him (even if he rolled his eyes through it), but Peter is still the man who murdered his own niece, who bit Scott, who killed all those people.

Peter, Stiles realizes, as he feels the man shove into him, is not someone he should trust.

~

Peter pistons his hips mindlessly, fueled by anger and spite and animalistic greed. How dare this _child_ reject him? First the bite, a lifetime ago in a parking garage, and now this? Peter’s wolf wants to blot out every last trace of Derek, wants to fuck Derek out of him, until all Stiles can say is Peter’s name.

“Peter! _Peter_ ,” Stiles chokes out, face red and eyes watering. He’s gripping Stiles’ throat too hard, Peter realizes; he’s choking him.

There’s a moment, shorter than a second, when the coldest most calculating part of Peter says not to let go, but to tighten his grip. To watch Stiles’ eyes bulge, hear his breath stop, feel him struggle and then go limp. Peter would miss him, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? This...fondness that he’s developed for the boy is what makes Stiles a threat. It would be better, smarter just to kill him now.

~

Peter lets go, and breathing has never felt so good to Stiles. For a second there, he really thought Peter was going to kill him, and for some reason, all he could think about was what _Derek_ would think. Peter looks normal again, and the way he pulls out of Stiles is about as close to sheepish as Peter Hale gets.

“I’m sorry,” he says, brushing his hand over his face and furrowing his eyebrows. “I’m not sure what came over me. Are you um- alright?” Peter looks confused and ill at ease, like he’s out of practice apologizing and being concerned. (When Stiles thinks about it, it’s not surprising. Also, did he get whiplash from that mood swing?)

“Yeah dude, I’m okay.” Stiles sits up casually, trying to diffuse the tension by just being as normal as he can. “That was uh you know, kind of weird, but hey, what else is new?” They sit there for a while in silence, not knowing what to say or do. Stiles hates silence, so after a few minutes he blurts out, “can you knot?” It’s one of those bizarre jokes that’s actually a sincere question, a Stiles Stilinski special. He expects Peter to just roll his eyes like everyone else does, but like a perfect straightman, Peter just replies, “can I not what?”

“Me. Can you knot me? Like, with your dick?”

Peter laughs, which is good. It stings too, the way it always does, the bitter pang of rejection sweetened by having made someone laugh. Tension diffused.

Stiles should really leave, should stop coming here to get fucked by this guy who almost just strangled him, this murderer who brainwashed Lydia into bringing him back from the dead, which he’d only been because _Stiles_ _set him on fire_. But then Peter looks at him with a smile that’s definitely genuine, even if it _is_ a little creepy, and he says “sure.”

~

Stiles is trying to act like nothing happened, but there’s a trepidation now that wasn’t there before, and Peter hates it. Even if Stiles is still here, even if he does want this, wants Peter’s _knot_ of all things, it’s a want, not a need, and Peter prefers to be needed.

Stiles is on the bed on all fours, wiggling his ass in the air like there’s nothing wrong. There is though, there is something wrong. Something wrong with both of them. They’re off. Peter doesn’t understand why he lost control the way he did, why his mood is fluctuating so dramatically. He’s been so stable. 

This is awkward, and Peter doesn’t _do_ awkward, so he plays along like everything is fine, rubbing his stubble against Stiles’ ass and spreading the boy with his thumbs. He breathes him in, earthy and light and sweaty and perfect. It grounds him. Peter tries not to think about why. Stiles’ hole is dark pink, a little sore from Peter pounding into him so roughly before. _I’m sorry_ , he thinks, placing an open-mouthed kiss against Stiles’ pucker. Stiles doesn’t go completely limp at the contact like he usually does, but his muscles relax a bit, and it’s a start.

Peter tongues at the boy’s opening, pushing firmly but gently before swirling his tongue around. Stiles still smells afraid, and for once it’s a smell that makes Peter feel helpless. “Just relax Stiles, it’s okay,” he soothes, massaging his fingertips into the meat of Stiles’ ass. The skin is soft, but there’s firm muscle underneath, lean and healthy.

The room is silent except for the soft sound of Stiles’ breath and the occasional slurp. Peter is so used to Stiles making tons of noise, chatting and joking and talking dirty. The silence is unnerving, and what’s more, Peter can’t figure out when exactly he began to even care.

~

Stiles would ask when his life became so fucking bizarre, but he knows the answer. Peter is treating him delicately, which is even weirder than him being too rough. The careful tonguing is just making Stiles think of Derek, which he can’t even wrap his head around when he _isn’t_ getting eaten out. Stiles doesn’t want to trigger another murderous outburst, and sure, having Peter romantically make out with his asshole is a hell of a lot better than getting strangled, but still. Peter reacted violently to Stiles being a smartass, so maybe the solution is to do the opposite. As much as it kills Stiles to be sincere, it doesn’t actually, you know, _kill_ him.

“Hmmm,” Stiles hums contentedly, “Peter, I think I’m ready?” He widens his eyes, hoping he looks like a Disney princess. “Breed me?”

Peter just looks at him for a second, and then laughs. “Are you trying to be earnest?”

Stiles twists around and sits with a huff. “Um, yeah. Thanks for _laughing_ by the way. Really great encouragement for me to quit my sarcastic ways.” 

Peter responds with a put-upon sigh. Thank fuck. Stiles just wants things to be normal so he can get a dick in his ass and go home and play video games with Derek. (Also he wants to think about Derek less.) “That was the least sincere sincerity I’ve ever seen,” Peter says, rolling his eyes and fighting a smile.

“You’re the one eating me out like I’m some kind of frightened animal!”

“That’s not how I eat frightened animals,” Peter deadpans.

“Oh gross! You know what I mean!”

Peter sits down on the bed, furrowing his eyebrows. “Actually, not really.”

Note to self, Stiles thought, explaining to Peter Hale: frustrating. “Ugh. Like, you were being really weird and treating me like I’m delicate. You don’t need to like _make love_ to my butt, dude.”

“Stiles, that is the basis for our entire relationship.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Stiles flails his hands around, trying to get the words flowing in his head so he can explain better. Peter just looks at him and smirks. “Wait, are you _fucking_ with me?”

“And I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

Stiles glares. “I would punch you if I didn’t think you might try to kill me again.”

“Sorry about that, again,” Peter says, looking away. “I think we’re both maybe a little off today.”

“Is that why it’s been so weird? Is that like, a thing?”

“Sure, you have things on your mind, I have things on my mind. It happens.”

“Uh, do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Peter says, disgusted. “I want to fuck you and then I want you to leave so I can read the New Yorker and go to sleep.”

Stiles reaches out and pinches Peter’s cheek. “There’s the Peter Hale I know and love!”

~

With Stiles’ fears apparently assuaged by their talk, Peter can finally bend the boy over and slide in. Even better, he can enjoy it. Feelings, he doesn't really understand, but this? This makes sense. 

Stiles is warm and wet and open, and fucking him feels like coming home. He moans obscenely when Peter bottoms out, and this time when Stiles turns around wide-eyed and says “breed me,” he means it. Peter works his hips, pace just the right side of brutal, one hand on Stiles’ hip and the other in his hair. (Peter thinks it’s best to avoid the throat, at least for today.) There’s a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, but he ignores it, focusing instead on the way Stiles’ insides cradle his cock, the smell of sweat and desire, the sound of skin against skin. He leans over and sucks a mark into Stiles’ shoulderblade, loving Stiles’ high pitched yelp. The bruise blooms a beautiful purple, like wolfsbane, and it’s lovely enough that Peter does it again on the other side. 

Again and again up and down Stiles’ spine, Peter bites and sucks and marks, fucking into his lovely boy, listening to him whimper in pleasure-pain. “Who knew Stiles,” he asks, admiring his work, “just what a lovely bitch you would make?”

“Ahn!” Stiles cries out. Peter assumes it’s the sound of Stiles agreeing.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? For me to breed you for real? Knot you and pump you full of my pups?”

“F-fuck,” Stiles whines, but that’s not enough of an answer.

Peter stills his hips. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” It’s almost a whisper. Peter can hear Stiles’ sniffles, smell his excitement and shame. 

“Good bitch,” he croons, resuming his fucking. Stiles rolls his hips to meet Peter’s thrusts, and he’s panting for breath, whole body flushed with blood and glistening with the first sheen of sweat. “Round and swollen and pregnant with daddy’s litter. Tits dripping with milk,” Peter continues, closing his eyes to picture it, snaking a hand around to tug on one of Stiles’ nipples. Peter’s wolf is going wild, his mind flooded with thoughts of _mine_ and _mate_ and _breed_. “Once you welp the first litter, I’ll just fill you up with more pups.” 

Stiles is crying, but he’s also sobbing “yes, yes, yes” to everything Peter says.

“My good little breeding bitch, finally getting what she wants.” Peter can feel himself starting to swell. “Fucked and filled and used, over and over and over, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles hiccups, grinding back against Peter like his life depends on it.

Peter’s climax is fast approaching, and he increases his pace, fucking Stiles without mercy, growing knot popping in and out of the boy’s hole until it just tugs at his rim, too big to come out. Peter grabs the back of his neck and holds him down, draping himself over the boys’ back. “Isn’t it wonderful to be treated like what you are?” He hisses into Stiles’ ear. “Aren’t you glad someone sees the real you? That underneath that sarcasm and smartass attitude, all you are is a Greedy. Fucking. Cunt.”

Stiles takes Peter’s knot like he was fucking made for it, coming with a cry, muscles spasming around the fat knot plugging his hole. Peter’s climax is quick to follow. It’s been so long since he’s knotted anyone, he’d forgotten how good it feels. Wolf and human working together in perfect tandem to flood someone who is all his. _That’s the Peter Hale I know and love_. Stiles’ words echo through his head. _I love you too_ , Peter almost says, and it takes him a moment to realize that he means it.

~

Stiles collapses after he comes, relaxing around Peter’s knot. The stretch is good, feels right. He’s sated and lazy, the unrelenting stream of jizz pumping into him hot and wet and soothing. There’s an idle panic, somewhere distant in a part of his brain that can still experience panic, that he can’t hold this much come, that it’s going to spill out, go everywhere, but Peter has him plugged up tight. Stiles takes in the scene in snatches. Peter’s hand stroking his flank, the sound of his own breaths, a coat thrown haphazardly over a chair, the cooling puddle of his own come congealing underneath him. Pulse after pulse after pulse of come, steady and regular, lull him to sleep.

He wakes up alone. The room is darker, which unnerves him for a second. There’s a plug in his ass, and he’s so full, stomach distended with come. A quick search of the apartment reveals that Peter is gone. Stiles’ clothes are folded neatly on the sofa; he looks for a note, but finds nothing. Rude. Peter always stays, or at least kicks Stiles out. He always says goodbye, so what the fuck is this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: basically Peter is angry about smelling Derek on Stiles, and holds Stiles' throat too tightly during some rough sex. when he realizes he's doing it, he seriously considers strangling him.
> 
> dun dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUN CLIFFHANGER ENDING lol idek what the deal is with this chapter. but it's over. it's done.


End file.
